Editorial #303

As we once again participate in our October ritual, the aesthetic cult of Hallow’s Eve, and catch creeping into our imaginations indulgent notions of the supernatural, I urge a degree of hesitancy. I won’t deny that Scotland’s ever-quickening nightfall thins the veil, nor that St Andrews fails to excite, in all its Gothic proclivities, a fascination for Brownyis and Bogillis. One must remain wary, however, of passing by our town’s buried history — unaware — as we resurrect its vestiges this ‘Halloweekend’.

You might be returning from your Reading Week abroad, dusting off your post-Raisin haze, or blinking away the weakening sun as you emerge again into society for another week of class. For those of you who are attentive, you may have noticed the discreet blue signs that now mark St Andrews’ various wynds and closes. Embossed in white are the histories of these back alleys, each including stories of their namesake and development. As our News Writer Eleonora Nucci reports in this issue, these placards were erected to restore lost history — that is, reversing the centuries of anglicisation and commodification that have devolved our town’s historical character.

St Andrews shares an abundance of other historical relics, among them witch-burning sites, commemorative monuments, and, of course, its numerous ruins. We students likewise participate in this medieval heritage through our various academic traditions, most recently in the Raisin Weekend a large number of you likely partook in.

Without record and without discourse, however, these artefacts gradually forget their significance. I would hazard a guess that most in this town may never have been told why our holiday is called ‘Raisin,’ or where St Andrew’s relics actually lie. We need these stories and mythology to make sense of our place within St Andrews’ centuries-old continuum.

In this issue you will find an array of St Andrean Gothic histories — Victorian Halloween parties and skeletons that hide within our walls and beneath our feet. You will also find contemporary histories: a feature on Raisin hazing culture, a foam fight photo story, and a chronicle — through design — of The Saint itself.

This town’s literary tradition doubtlessly runs deep, inviting the likes of Rudyard Kipling, J.M. Barrie, and countless Makars. Anne Carson, who some of you may recognise from your English or Classics reading lists, recently won the Nobel Prize in Literature. She also attended St Andrews. Sir David Brewster, inventor of the Stereoscope, and John Cleese, Mony Python co-founder, were Principal and Rector here respectively. The list goes on.

The true character of this town, the collective consciousness of eight centuries of fishermen, martyrs, merchants, monks, professors, and students that have received inspiration from our three streets, exists within this tradition. Their works — literary, photographic, or performance — perhaps more so than the cathedral spires that loom over St Andrews, represent more acutely our rich and varied biography.

It is thus a point of pride to be a contributor for one of the student publications associated with this town. Each in their own manner, the magazines, fashion shows, music collectives, theatre companies, and the seemingly infinite Saint-punned journals constitute this enduring collective consciousness. It is our student artists, journalists, and performers, through their creative endeavours, that provide meaning to our past and imagine history for those to follow.

As you read through this issue’s content and prepare for your Halloweekend pres, I ask that you participate in this historical awareness; learn the blue Crail’s Wynd sign, study Old Tom Morris’ tombstone, or take a pause at Witch Hill. Let their ghosts stir inspiration from your autumn-chilled bones, and give them something to read.

Alden